#corporal
Father God
Doesn't spare the rod
Or spoil
Any boi or goil.
Sep 17, 2024
Sep 17, 2024 at 3:25 PM UTC
If it is wrong after a child turns a certain age, then why is it ok in the first place
If it is wrong for the law to use on a criminal why is it right for a parent to use on a child, they say spare the rod spoil the child, I say spare the rod and spare the bad relationship with your children
I say spare the rod spare the decrease of grey matter in your Kids brain
I say spare the rod spare the higher chance of alcoholism as an adult
Parent should be associated with comfort not fear
discipline should be associated with correction not pain
and spare the rod spoil the child is ********
It’s is not eve a verse from the Bible
And yes I am biased mom because according to my sister you started physical punishment at the ripe old age of 6 months old and continued until I was almost thirteen
Ever since I can remember I have been afraid of you and I cannot come to believe that is my anxiety’s fault because all anxiety has some truth to it
I still remember when my little sister had temper tantrums you would send her to her room and spank her every hour until she stopped crying and I recently talked to her and she does not remember it her brain blocked it out
and yes it was not a deadly beating but it still hurt her, and that hurts me
And I do not blame you I do not blame me
I blame this messed up system of our government and religion that tells people it is ok to hit a child but not another adult because hitting an adult will send you to jail but hitting a child In the name of discipline is praised
I have more to say, but I don’t have all day
Jun 29, 2020
Jun 29, 2020 at 11:23 PM UTC
In a pornographic poem
ee cummings wrote
may i feel ,
Fell the nicest of the rhymes into
Brooks of sholas
Untidy caveman and lady in water
Heard the words in the streams
Though evaporated few from the stream
There stood ee Cummings on the banks
With the inks for liquid state
Somewhere he again stood
With the inks for gaseos state
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 4:37 AM UTC
__Canto I. Long ago and far away...__
Under the bridge across the Kankakee River, Grampa found me. I was busted for truancy. First grade. 1946.
Summer and after school: Paper route, neighborhood yard work, dogsbody in a drugstore, measuring houses for the county, fireman EJ&E railroad, janitor and bottling line Pabst Brewery Peoria. 1952-1962.
Fresh caught Mississippi River catfish. Muddy Yummy. Burlington, Iowa. 1959. Best ever.
In college, Fr. ***** usually confused me with my roommate, Al. Except for grades. St. Procopius College, 1958-62. Rats.
Coming home from college for Christmas. Oops, my family moved a few streets over and forgot to tell me. Peoria, 1961.
The Pabst Brewery lunchroom in Peoria, a little after dawn, my first day. A guy came in and said: "Who wants my horsecock sandwich? **** this first beer tastes good." We never knew how many he drank. 1962.
At grad school, when we moved into the basement with the octopus furnace, Dave, my roommate, contributed a case of Chef Boyardee spaghettios and I brought 3 cases of beer, PBRs. Supper for a month. Ames. 1962.
Sharon and I were making out in the afternoon, clothes a jumble. Walter Cronkite said, " President Kennedy has been shot…”. Ames, 1963.
I stood in line, in my shorts, waiting for the clap-check. The corporal shouted: "All right, you ******* Uncle and the Republic of Viet Nam want your sorry ***** Drop 'em". Des Moines. Deferred, 1964.
Married and living in student housing. Packing crate furniture. Pammel Court, 1966.
One of many undistinguished PhD theses on theoretical physics. Ames. 1967.
He electrified the room. Every woman in the room, regardless of age, wanted him, or seemed to. The atmosphere was primeval and dripping with desire. In the presence of greatness. Palo Alto, 1968.
US science jobs dried up. From a mountain-top, beery conversation, I got a research job in Germany. Boulder, 1968. Aachen, 1969.
The first time I saw automatic weapons at an airport. Geneva, 1970.
I toasted Rembrandt with sparkling wine at the Rijksmuseum. He said nothing. Amsterdam International Conference on Elementary Particles. 1971.
A little drunk, but sobering fast: the guard had Khrushchev teeth.
Midnight, alone, locked in a room at the border.
Hours later, release. East Berlin, 1973. Harrassment.
She said, "You know it's remarkable that we're not having an affair." No, it wasn't. George's wife. Germany, 1973.
"Maybe there really are quarks, but if so, we'll never see them." Truer than I knew. Exit to Huntsville, 1974.
On my first day at work, my first federal felony. As a joke, I impersonated an FBI agent. What the hell? Huntsville. 1974. Guess what?-- No witnesses left! 2021.
Hard work, good times, difficult times. The first years in Huntsville are not fully digested and may stay that way.
The golden Lord Buddha radiated peace with his smile. Pop, pop. Shots in the distance. Bangkok. 1992.
Accomplishment at work, discord at home. Divorce. Huntsville. 1994. I got the dogs.
New beginnings, a fresh start, true love and life-partner. Huntsville. 1995.
__Canto II. In the present century...__
Should be working on a proposal, but riveted to the TV. The day the towers fell and nearly 4000 people perished. September 11, 2001.
I started painting. Old barns and such. 2004.
We bet on how many dead bodies we would see. None, but lots of flip-flops and a sheep. Secrets of the Yangtze. 2004
I quietly admired a Rembrandt portrait at the Schiphol airport. Ever inscrutable, his painting had presence, even as the bomb dogs sniffed by. Beagles. 2006.
I’ve lost two close friends that I’ve known for 50-odd years. There aren’t many more. Huntsville. 2008 and 2011.
Here's some career advice: On your desk, keep a coffee cup marked, "No Whining", that side out. Third and final retirement. 2015.
I occasionally kick myself for not staying with physics—I’m jealous of friends that did. I moved on, but stayed interested. Continuing.
I’m eighty years old and walk like a duck. 2021.
Letter: "Your insurance has lapsed but for $60,000, it can be reinstated provided you are alive when we receive the premium." Life at 81. Huntsville, 2022.
__Canto III: Coda__
Honest distortions emerging from the distance of time. The thin comfort of fading memories. Thoughts on poor decisions and worse outcomes. Not often, but every now and then.
(Begun May 2016)
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 6:22 PM UTC
I carved my name into a desk.
I didn't think much of it then
But looking back at the mess
I can see the innocence
No walls to hold him
Just a desk to learn
And mark on a whim
To know I was here
And the lesson began
So they took my hands
Beat them with the edge of a rule
Hard enough to hurt but not bruise
To cut but not bleed
Just skin
So I looked down at my desk
And my name in pain
Trying not to cry
Tears tried in my eyes
My name is blurred
The table is blurred
Like a white washed wall at twilight.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
A Major's contribution
A personal Private's affair
The Colonel that blossomed
Into a General's sense of scandal
Catching all Lieutenants unaware
Then came a Corporal punishment
And Mastered the Sargent
With such care
Limiting the whole base
To all and much despair
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC
The big day was a week away
The streets were being swept
Folding stands erected
Where homeless, last week slept
To make a good impression
The Mayor told one and all
To step up and take note
To answer his loud call
We must show the whole country
We are the best at what we do
We have to show the country
The best side of me and you
This meant weeks before this
The police were out in force
Removing the imperfections
Both on foot and out on horse
A cleansing of the city
Make it nice for all to see
It brings up bitter memories
At least it does to me
It happened back in Europe
A little corporal took command
He did his little cleansing
With his little **** band
The town had hung up bunting
Like the banners in Berlin
being homeless is a problem
It's not where a cleansing should begin
The mayor had plans for plenty
Marching bands and lots of press
He'd only answer pre-set questions
In case it all became a mess
He had to have it perfect
It was his first parade you know,
the streets were freshly steam cleaned
There was nothing he didn't want to show
The displaced folks all huddled
Down in the park, a mile back
Veterans and soldiers
Whites, Hispanics, and some black
Their town was in transition
They were the cities hidden sore
They would never be accepted
Never let inside a door
The Mayor stood on the dais
Waved and smiled as folks went by
It was a town of smoke and mirrors
He showed the world a great big lie
Like the small Austrian corporal
who refused to change and would not bend
The Mayor lied to his country
It was the beginning of his end
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC